


Sweet Masquerade

by vipjuly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bottom Dean, Car Sex, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dirty Talk, First Time, Librarian Castiel, M/M, Pierced Dean Winchester, Rimming, Sex in the Impala, gender fluidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 02:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16484393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Castiel deviates from his normal daily caffeine intake when his brother gets him a gift card to a new stand in town.He's used to the mom and pop shop down the road.He is not used to his coffee being served with a side of nipple pasties.





	Sweet Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> it's 12:10am so it's no longer halloween but fuck you, happy halloween  
> this gets outta hand real quick  
> 100% unedited and i'm not sorry bout it  
> art by the wonderful [daina](https://twitter.com/Daina_91880)

Castiel has made a grave mistake.

He should have known better than to accept a gift from his older brother. The track record of receiving wonderful gifts from him is pretty dismal. Boxes that explode glitter with a spring loaded mechanism, dish detergent disguised as a bath bomb that had him clearing bubbles out of every corner of his bathroom for three hours, a blind date that had been so traumatizing Castiel thinks he might have PTSD--

Surely, he should have suspected a catch when Gabriel handed him a gift card to a coffee stand and said he got him fifty dollars’ worth of coffee. Castiel had looked at the name of the coffee stand (the card says _Sweet Masquerade_ ), done a quick Google search to locate it, and had initially been pleased that it wasn’t out of his commute at all to go there before his afternoon shift at the library.

Pulling into the line of cars, however, Castiel is starting to relate heavily to the saying: Hindsight is always 20/20.

The coffee stand is decorated like something out of a victorian ball, which Castiel can appreciate from a visual standpoint. The aesthetic is very nice on the outside, but as Castiel rolls down his window in preparation to be the next car at the window he hears distinct, shrill giggling coming from the car in front of him. A masculine, tan arm done up in black lace and white pearls holds a coffee to the woman, who passes a gratuitous amount of money into the waiting hand. Castiel’s eyes widen. Surely the woman just paid for at _least_ ten coffees, judging by the wad of cash now disappearing inside the window.

Is Castiel about to blow all fifty dollars of his gift card on one drink? Is this some weird themed place where you get one bang for all your bucks?

The car in front of him pulls off and Castiel swallows, wringing the steering wheel as he slowly pulls forward. He puts his car in park, turns towards the service window, and feels anything he was about to say get lodged deep, deep in his throat.

The victorian ball theme on the outside extends inside to the costumes that the baristas are wearing. But the thing that Castiel notices is… well, the lack of costume on certain _parts_ of the barista’s bodies. Both women and men work here, four employees total, and Castiel has no idea where to look that’s polite. 

Everyone is topless; the women have black bat-shaped pasties over their perky nipples - their hips are adorned with the type of wire cages that are meant to fluff up those heavy, layered victorian dresses, but the wire is covered in lightweight and sheer, sparkly tulle. The men are wearing what could only be described as banana hammocks. All of the employees are wearing masquerade masks decorated in all sorts of different colors and styles, and Castiel feels _entirely_ out of his element as he drinks it all in.

Castiel is mortified.

“Hey there,” a rich voice greets Castiel.

Snapping his gaze up, Castiel is met with a slightly sympathetic smile, but literally all of his reservations fly out of his head when he takes in the full picture. This tan, freckled man is cut in all the right places and has a… delectable bubble butt, which he shows off by wearing a black thong. It’s his forearms that are decorated in black lace and pearls, his nails painted black, a lace choker around his neck with a few pretty pearls dangling from it. There’s glitter splattered at random across his body, like one of his coworkers dipped their hand in a mixture and smeared it over his skin. There’s a silver barbell in each of his nipples that Castiel resolutely has to avoid looking at. The mask adorning his face only covers from forehead to cheekbone and that’s where Castiel allows his attention to (appropriately) linger; it’s quite clearly an animal of some sort, Castiel would like to say a deer of some kind - also black and adorned with pearls and rhinestones of various sizes. Castiel can’t see the color of his eyes but the lower half of his face is incredibly attractive, two-day stubble along his jaw and white teeth framed by plump, _sinful_ lips.

He’s wearing lip gloss.

“First time?” 

Castiel blinks, and then mentally shakes himself. “Um- I have a gift card.” 

The man smiles with a bit more warmth now. He puts his hands on the ledge of the service window, leaning a bit towards Castiel’s car so they can hear each other better. His triceps bulge and Castiel guts his gaze away, swallowing thickly. 

“Nice. Whaddya normally get?”

It’s absurd, really, that this… scantily clad man can have a conversation so easily. Or maybe it’s not absurd at all, and Castiel is the weird one in this situation. After all, he pulled up to - _clearly_ \- a bikini barista stand, the whole of which being currently decked out for Halloween approaching. 

Most people know what they’re getting into when they pull into this line, Castiel suspects.

“Americano,” Castiel licks his lips. “As strong as you can make it.” 

“Sure bud,” the guy says easily. He must sense that Castiel is completely caught off-guard. “What size?”

“Twenty ounce.”

The guy lifts a brow. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, man.” 

“I’m a night owl,” Castiel supplies.

The man shrugs and grins. “A’right. Iced or hot?” 

“Iced, please,” Castiel says, relaxing a bit in his seat. He moves his gaze from the way the man’s body looks as he twists and turns to fill Castiel’s request, instead perusing the menu posted up on the side of the building. It’s a pretty standard menu with no scandalous names for anything; they even offer pastries. 

Gabriel _would_ know a place like this exists.

The guy is quick, but iced americanos aren’t exactly rocket science. If Castiel cared enough he could make them at home for himself, but alas, he’s barely enough of a morning person to remember to eat. He holds out the gift card and the guy takes it, Castiel’s eyes dragging over the way the lace on his wrists makes them look almost… delicate. 

“Gonna go out on a limb and say a place like this ain’t your cup o’ tea,” the barista says, and then pauses. “Well- cup of coffee, I guess.”

Castiel allows a smile to tug at his lips as the barista hands him back his card, and his drink. “You would be correct. I normally go to the mom and pop a few blocks from here.” 

The guy’s smile is blinding. “We get our pastries from them!”

Castiel nods, setting his too-large coffee in his cup holder and then arranging the card carefully in his wallet. When he glances back to the barista he feels heat flash through him; the barista is resting on his elbows and forearms on the service counter, halfway out the window. He’s closer, and Castiel can see that his eyes are green behind that dark mask - green and smudged with smokey, dark eyeshadow. 

“Thank you for your patronage,” the barista says, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. It’s now that Castiel notices the man has a slightly Southern drawl and… oh. 

Christ.

“Thank you…?” Castiel manages to lilt his voice in a manner indicating he’d like to know this guy’s name. He’s on a first name basis with his other baristas.

“Impala,” the barista says, reaching up to flick one of the horns protruding from the edge of his mask. He grins and winks, straightening. “See you soon.” 

Castiel hopes he won’t.

\--

The coffee is surprisingly good. That’s the reasoning Castiel has come up with as he pulls into line at _Sweet Masquerade_ \- the coffee is good, he’s not losing his sanity. He would be insane to _not_ go back for delicious coffee. 

It has nothing to do with the fact that he was distracted thinking about Impala guy during his entire shift yesterday and accidentally un-alphabetized the cart of ancient Egyptian textbooks Kevin had been working on for three days.

The coffee is good, and now Castiel knows this place gets their pastries from his other favorite stand, and he still has forty-five dollars on his gift card (Castiel now understands that the woman had been _tipping_ Impala generously), so he gets in line.

Perfectly reasonable.

“You’re back!” Impala greets, enthused when he turns to see Castiel waiting at the window. 

Castiel fights back a blush and tries for indifferent, “Your coffee kept me sufficiently awake last night.” He doesn’t want to think about why Impala recognizes or remembers him. It’s likely just good customer service.

“Awesome,” Impala grins. He’s still dressed in lace and pearls, but today’s lace is white, and his pearls are black. His thong is blood red. “Same thing today?” 

Castiel drums his fingers across his steering wheel. “What do you suggest?” Red alert! Red alert! Castiel _never_ deviates from americanos!

The smile Impala flashes him is too charming. His canines are sharp. “Would you believe me if I said I don’t drink coffee?” 

Castiel arches a single brow.

Impala meets his gaze with challenge for all of three seconds, before breaking down into snickers. “Nah I’d be dead on my feet working here if I didn’t have a ridiculous caffeine addiction.” 

Castiel snorts. Impala is a… dork. “Your shift must start early.”

“Three a.m. to three p.m.,” Impala says. He’s gathering a few things and Castiel can only assume he’s on his way to making ‘what do you suggest’. 

Castiel frowns. “That’s… a very long shift.” 

Impala flashes a smile and shrugs, “Yeah- but this place is my bread n’ butter, heart n’ soul.”

“Your business?” Castiel’s brows arch in surprise as he guesses. Impala’s back is partially to him and Castiel resolutely does _not_ let his gaze drift to the perfect swell of his bare ass. Aren’t there health codes being violated? Not that he’s going to complain. 

“You got it,” Impala says, satisfaction in his voice. He finishes making the beverage and turns towards Castiel with a grin. He holds up an iced drink caramel in color, “Iced latte with soy milk. You didn’t take milk in your americano.”

“I typically don’t take milk in my coffee,” Castiel says with a nod, taking the drink. He appreciates that Impala noticed at all and thought to do a milk substitute in case he were lactose intolerant. “I feel as though it impedes the efficacy of the caffeine.”

Impala snorts. “Right. Anyway, give that a sip and tell me if you like it.”

Castiel does as instructed, and then hums. “It’s a little sweet, but enjoyable.” He hands over his gift card.

Impala takes it and the way he stands with his hip slightly cocked while is slides it into the Square has Castiel’s gaze roving down his body unbidden. Impala is broad up top, narrow at the waist, and undeniably, oddly… curvy. “Well, good to know. Most folks like their coffee on the sweet side, but I’ll remember that for next time.”

Castiel snaps his gaze up when Impala shifts towards him to hand back the card. Castiel tries to play it off, but he can see the knowing glint in those pretty green eyes when Impala leans over the service ledge again. “Thank you.” Castiel says, words a bit stilted. This whole coffee stand is a lot to absorb, and even though their exchanges have been awkward at best, Impala seems to know that he’s got Castiel hooked.

“See you ‘round,” Impala gives a two-finger salute.

Castiel takes that as his cue to leave and pulls away, chewing his lower lip lightly. 

Yep. Hooked.

What will Impala be wearing tomorrow?

\--

Today Impala is wearing rich, royal blue. His thong, the lace on his arms and around his throat; the glitter on his body is green, gold, and purple, and Castiel has never thought of a human as living artwork before, but the thought definitely crosses his mind.

“Hey,” Impala leans his hands on the ledge, triceps bulging as he sends Castiel a sunny smile. On this gloomy October day, Castiel considers himself doused in sunshine.

“Hello,” Castiel greets. He can’t, he just _can’t_ help the way his gaze lingers over certain angles of Impala’s hairless body. The nipple piercings, the slight swell of his pecs, the way his obliques flex over his ribs and look like angel wings whenever he laughs or turns, how his freckles are still visible even with the glitter spread over his skin.

“‘Nother round of whaddya suggest?” Impala asks.

“Please,” Castiel says, pulling his gift card out of his wallet. Hopefully he hadn’t been staring for too long. “The blue is…” he trails off, unsure a) what he’s going to say, and b) why he’s even commenting in the first place.

“You like it?” Impala says conversationally. “This blue kinda reminds me of your eyes.”

Castiel’s eyebrows nearly shoot off his face, gift card fumbling through his fingers as he nearly drops it to his lap. “What?”

“Your eyes,” Impala says easily. He turns to face Castiel, drink in hand, grin on his features. “They’re pretty. I wasn’t sure if I had anything close to their color.”

What are words? How do humans communicate with each other? Castiel takes the proffered drink and hands off his gift card, still struggling to find words, thankful his fingers are no longer trembling.

“Haven’t seen eyes like yours before,” Impala continues, like Castiel isn’t turning fifty shades of red. “Was feelin’ a little inspired to try something different from the usual black-white-red combo.” Castiel’s fingers tremble again as he puts the coffee in his cup holder. Impala hands him back his card, still casual as ever. “Got a lotta compliments today.” 

“Green,” Castiel blurts.

Impala’s mouth quirks a little, and Castiel knows he’s arching a brow behind his mask. “You stoplighting me? I mean, we just met. But I do appreciate you giving me permission for… whatever is goin’ through that pretty head o’ yours.”

Castiel could smack himself in the forehead. He could also fall into a bottomless pit and be more at ease than he is in this exact moment. “I meant- you should wear green.” Impala nods. Castiel elaborates, to his own horror. “To match your eyes.” 

“Oh,” Impala seems genuinely surprised. “You can tell what color my eyes are?” 

Castiel wants to die. “Your mask and makeup hide most of the details, but I can tell they’re green.” 

“Huh,” Impala nods, considering. “Well, I’ll see what I can rustle up.” He smiles, this one less playful and more customer service-y. “We’ll see you later.”

Giving a jerky nod and understanding that he needs to exit the line so other cars can be tended to, Castiel pulls away from the coffee stand and lets out a breath. 

He totally just stoplighted a stranger _and_ got called out on it.

Next he’ll be giving him a kink checklist, he thinks morosely, rolling his eyes at himself. 

\--

“What’s this?” Castiel asks, staring at the laminated stationery Gabriel handed him upon forced entry into his house. 

Gabriel, who has already made himself at home on Castiel’s couch, wiggles his socked toes excitedly. He didn’t even put his shoes on the rack, the slob. “An invitation, dear brother!” 

“To what,” Castiel grumbles. It’s eight in the morning; due to the hours Castiel keeps, he’s rarely up before ten. He’s still squinting at the invite as he makes his way to his kitchen, fumbling for his coffee pot one handed. He has Tuesdays off and won’t be seeing Impala for his craving today.

Coffee craving.

His _coffee_ craving.

“A masquerade ball!” Gabriel nearly sings. “A local charity event for businesses. You’re my plus-one!” 

“I am not,” Castiel says blandly as he sets the invite on the counter so he can grab last night’s tea mug to start rinsing it out. 

“Sure you are! When’s the last time you went out and had fun?” 

“Your question does not compute,” Castiel says flatly. He grabs a paper towel to start drying his now clean mug. “Please ask questions registered to my database.” 

He can hear Gabriel’s eye roll. “Jesus, Cassie. I really do need a plus-one.”

“Take your girlfriend,” Castiel says, trying to keep the ice out of his voice. He really is cranky. His coffee needs to brew faster. He hates that his brother doesn’t seem to have an off switch.

“Actually,” Gabriel sounds way too pleased. Castiel still refuses to look at him. “She said I should take my favorite brother to the masquerade so he can find some _romance_.”

“Attending a costume ball where everyone’s faces are hidden by masks isn’t my idea of romantic,” Castiel says.

“Why not?” Gabriel is _pouting_ , the bastard. “What’s more romantic than a night swept up in the arms of a beautiful, dressed up stranger? It’s so _mysterious_ ~” 

“I don’t want to dress up, Gabriel,” Castiel says. He pulls the carafe from the holder while the coffee maker is still dripping so he can fill his cup three-quarters of the way. The sound of coffee dripping and sizzling onto the hot plate gets drowned out by Gabriel’s whining. 

“That’s the best part!” Sometimes Castiel forgets that he’s the younger one. “I know you’re plenty crafty! We can get some nice suits and make some cool custom masks.”

Castiel puts the carafe back in place and then sets his mug on the counter, turning to the freezer to pull out his ice cube tray. “I can help you with your costume, but I am not going to attend.” He breaks out a cube and drops it into his coffee, putting the tray back into the freezer.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Gabriel says.

Castiel rolls his eyes at the mental image of Gabriel rubbing his hands together like some two-bit Disney villain. “Get out of my house.” 

Gabriel actually gets up and skips to the foyer to start putting on his shoes. Wonders never cease. “The party’s on Saturday! I’ll be back later with supplies~”

He slams the door when he leaves, pictures rattling on the walls, and Castiel holds his mug just below his chin, tipping his head back so he can stare at the ceiling, trying to see through it to Heaven. 

“Please don’t let him convince me to go.” 

\--

Gabriel comes back later that day and convinces Castiel to go, _and_ gets his help with crafting their masquerade masks and choosing outfits.

Impala has Wednesday off, and Castiel tries not to get disappointed. He orders an americano and thinks that this barista, Charlie, is pretty cool - she’s managed to victorian-ize Harry Potter regalia, and she’s incredibly personable and easy to talk to. Kind of like Impala, but without the… assets… that Castiel prefers to look at when his conversational partner is so scantily clad. 

Not that it’s exactly easy to not stare at her perky breasts whenever she wiggles in excitement while talking. 

On Thursday Impala is back and wearing green lace and a gold thong, gold glitter flecked over his tan skin. He even changed the colors of his mask. Castiel’s mouth goes a little dry when Impala greets him, and he doesn’t miss the wolfish smirk that gets flashed when Castiel momentarily forgets to speak. 

“Afternoon,” Impala greets cheekily.

“Hello,” Castiel returns on autopilot. 

Impala turns to start making a drink at random, and Castiel forcefully tears his gaze away. After a minute or so Impala is holding a drink out the window and Castiel exchanges it with his card, taking a slow sip. Flavor explodes on his tongue; more bitter than sweet, and he hums.

“This is good.” 

“Awesome,” Dean says, handing back Castiel’s card. “I got a cold brew machine over my days off. You’re the first to try it.” 

Castiel can’t help but smile a bit. “What inspired you to do that?”

“I dunno,” Impala shrugs, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his hip casually against the service ledge. His biceps are-- woah. “This kinda cranky dude that comes by and only likes iced drinks, but doesn’t like sweets. Wanna make sure I cater to all my customers, y’know?”

“It sounds like you’re under the impression that he’ll be a long time customer,” Castiel says, lifting a brow towards Impala.

Impala’s grin widens a fraction. “I’ve got a hunch.” Their eyes stay locked for a moment, and then Impala is breaking their spell first, glancing to the side and shrugging, suddenly seeming a little self-conscious. “And uh, you know. Cold brew is gettin’ kinda popular and I had my heels in the ground refusin’ to get it.” 

“Of course,” Castiel nods. “Now that the option is available I’m sure you’ll be getting more orders for it.” 

Impala’s smile returns, looking a little relieved - like he was waiting for some sort of validation from Castiel. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

Castiel takes a moment to glance behind him at how long the line is, and then sends Impala what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “You’re doing really well.”

Impala manges to look humbled, a shy smile spreading on his lips as he lowers his lashes. 

Fuck.

“Have a good day,” Castiel says, desperate to leave before he gets wound up at the sight of the usually charismatic and charming Impala looking _coy_.

“See ya,” Impala imparts a wave, green eyes glimmering behind his mask.

Castiel can’t focus for the rest of the day. 

\--

Gabriel owns what he calls a “hole in the wall” restaurant, even though it’s anything but. He serves Mediterranean food of five-star quality in a three-star container and, as he says, it’s part of the ‘gimmick’. People come in expecting mediocre food and then he blows their minds. He’s got amazing reviews on yelp. 

Figures Gabriel would bring his trickster attitude into the business world. Figures that he could pull it off, too. 

The masquerade ball on Saturday requires attendees to model their costume after their business. Helping Gabriel choose a douchey white suit with a purple silk shirt and glueing aviator lenses to his masquerade masks makes Castiel want to take a cold shower to get all of the slime off, but once Gabriel is actually wearing the getup, it’s better. Kind of. Since Castiel is the plus-one he doesn’t have to adhere to that dress code, so he spends Friday thinking about how he’s going to decorate his mask. 

His thoughts are interrupted by his daily visit to _Sweet Masquerade_. Impala isn’t there, but Charlie is, and she sends Castiel a sunny smile as she fixes his americano. Only Impala gives Castiel the ‘whaddya suggest’ special. Today she has victorian-ized Uhura’s uniform and it looks really good, the red of her tulle almost as fiery as her hair. She sends Castiel off with a promise to tell Impala he stopped by (which shouldn’t make him blush as brightly as it does, but it _does_ , and Charlie sees it and she just gives him a knowing smile and… fuck) and Castiel continues to brainstorm what he’s going to do for the ball.

Saturday morning while Castiel is sipping coffee and browsing different websites for inspiration, an idea pops into his head.

Well- an idea buzzes into his text messages.

**Gabriel:** Sometimes I wanna give you a harp and have you serenade me with bible verses. 

Castiel doesn’t remember what they were talking about, at all, but he finds himself grinning as he moves towards his dining room table-turned-craft station. He’s got the perfect idea. 

\--

Gabriel shows up an hour early so he can get dressed and slick his hair back and get all sorts of smarmy for his getup. When Castiel answers the door he’s already dressed and Gabriel’s brows rise up to his hairline, his expression impressed as he looks over Castiel.

“Holy shit, bro. Emphasis on the ‘holy’.” 

Castiel is wearing a charcoal suit he wore to a wedding once three years ago, the slacks slim fit and a blazer that accentuates his broad shoulders. He’s wearing a powder blue button-up and a charcoal waistcoat cinched so tight it looks like a corset. It took some modification and lots of blue ribbon; he got it tight enough to add curves but not so tight he can’t breathe. He’d had to call around to all sorts of costume shops before he found a pair of wings he felt like he could modify; and modify, he did. The wings are on sturdy leather straps wrapped around Castiel’s shoulders and ribs under his clothes, holes cut into the material of his suit, waistcoat and shirt so they protrude neatly from his back, looking as real as possible. The frame of the wings is paper mache and reinforced with wire, the feathers black as night and drenched in blue, green, and purple glitter for a gossamer effect. They’re huge, too. Castiel is going to have to be careful about bumping into strangers. His outfit is topped off, quite literally, with a golden circlet of woven branches perched on his messy dark hair, and he has his mask held loosely in his hand. 

“Gonna beat people off of you with my cane,” Gabriel says proudly as he passes Castiel to grab his costume off of the table. 

“It is rather extravagant,” Castiel admits, almost a bit sheepishly. 

“You’ll kill the costume contest,” Gabriel says as he disappears into the guest bathroom.

Castiel glances down at the mask in his hands. It’s simple - grey like his suit and adorned with plumes of feathers that will encase the sides of his head, leaving his halo unobstructed. He’d glued on blue and green rhinestones to frame the eyeholes and instead of ribbon to secure it to his head it’s another leather strap to ensure that it won’t get knocked off his face during any… crazy festivities his brother may rope him into. 

The scent of Gabriel’s cologne exits the bathroom before he does, and Castiel wrinkles his nose as he looks over his brother. There’s a fake mustache glued to his upper lip and Castiel snorts a little, grabbing his cell phone and putting it in his pocket. 

“Kali won’t have to worry about anyone trying to steal you away tonight,” Castiel says. 

Gabriel shoots Castiel finger guns, “Don’t underestimate my bachelorhood, baby bro.” He grabs his cane from where it’s leaning against the wall and then gives an exaggerated bow. “Let’s get to the party!”

Castiel should have suspected that sitting in the car was going to be a problem. He can’t fit in the front seat without blocking Gabriel’s view so he sits in the back, slightly sideways, unbuckled. A vague threat about his safety has Gabriel waving an idle hand as they leave Castiel’s driveway and head towards downtown, and Castiel takes the time to carefully don his mask, making sure none of his hair gets caught in the leather and that his halo is on straight. There’s valet when they arrive at the event center and when Castiel gets out of the car he hears an explosion of murmurs from people mingling outside, trying to not feel too prideful about how good his costume looks. Working the costume department for drama club in high school hadn’t seemed like a it could give him any long term benefits at the time, but he’s glad he has that experience under his belt now. Gabriel loops his arm through Castiel’s and hands their invitation to the doorman, but as soon as they’re over the threshold Gabriel wanders off and Castiel sighs to himself. He’d suspected Gabriel would abandon him, but he didn’t think it’d be so soon.

The event center is done up beautifully. It’s victorian, making Castiel think of _Sweet Masquerade_ , and he suddenly wonders if Impala will be present. This is an event for local businesses, after all. He surreptitiously lets his gaze wander over the guests as he makes his way towards the refreshment table; there are a lot of impressive costumes, some women even wearing large powdered wigs, and Castiel is maybe slightly disappointed that he doesn’t see any flashes of skin as he moves through the crowd. 

At the refreshment table Castiel picks up a champagne flute and continues on his way, deciding it best if he doesn’t stay still for too long. He’ll look like a wallflower and be approached by people he’d rather not talk to, and even though it’s believable that no one will recognize him, he doesn’t feel like entertaining dull conversation. There’s music playing; it’s not live, but it’s classical, and people are milling about in good rhythm but not actually dancing. Castiel wonders if any of these people know how to waltz.

Unlikely.

He takes a moment to stand still so he can sip on his champagne, not wanting to chance spilling any on himself. This costume is something he wants to wear again in the future, and he’s not keen on ruining it tonight. His free hand slides into his pocket, eyes roving over the crowd once more. Someone bumps into his wings and Castiel takes a step forward to keep his balance, turning around to see who is currently apologizing profusely- and then promptly loses all trains of thought.

It’s Impala.

He’s dressed, which is a shame on one hand, but a… blessing on the other. He’s wearing an actual corset, cinched up all pretty to make his waist taper beautifully. The corset is an underbust, which leaves Impala’s pierced nipples on display, the material forest green with gold accents and dark blue ribboning. He’s wearing an honest to God skirt, sheer tulle in shades of blue and green with a slit on the side to expose the length of his long, strong leg, the opacity just right to see the gold thong he’s wearing underneath. Castiel’s eyes continue drifting down to Impala’s feet, and oh. He’s wearing strappy gold sandals with a slight heel, and Castiel feels all of his motor functions seize up as he lifts his gaze to meet Impala’s, who is finally registering who he just bumped into.

Impala looks like a woodland nymph.

“Oh-” Impala’s grin splits his features. Tonight’s mask is gold with green accents, the horns spindly and royal blue. There’s lots of glitter decorating his skin, gloss on his lips, and Castiel’s heart slams against his ribcage as recognition filters through verdant eyes. “It’s you!” Impala lets out a beautiful laugh. He’s holding a beer in one hand. His casual masculinity fights against the way he’s dressed and Castiel feels more tongue-tied than ever. “You know, I never did get your name.”

“Castiel,” Castiel replies a little dumbly.

Impala’s gaze rakes over his form, an appreciative gleam in his eyes. “Cas. You clean up good.” 

Heat warms Castiel’s cheeks, fingers flexing on his champagne flute. “I see you took some liberties with the dress code.”

Impala’s grin is downright cocky. “I own a bikini barista stand. If I came fully dressed it would misrepresent my business.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask if the masquerade theme is year ‘round or if it’s a special occasion for the season,” Castiel says, keeping his gaze on Impala’s face as he takes a slow drink of his champagne. 

“Year ‘round,” Impala nods, taking a swig of his beer and allowing his gaze to wander the crowd. There’s still the ghost of a smile on his features. “I’ve always loved Halloween, and when I opened the business I knew I wanted to smash my two passions together: Halloween and caffeine.” 

Castiel hides his smile by taking another sip. “‘Halloween and Caffeine’ would have been an apt name.” 

Impala laughs, the sound boisterous and light and beautiful. “Man, that should be my new business tagline.” 

“Cassie!”

Castiel starts a bit at Gabriel noisily coming up from the side, and then wrinkles his nose when the waft of cologne hits his nostrils. “Gabriel, you reek.”

Gabriel is too busy leering at Impala, “Aren’t you the owner of that titty coffee stand?” 

Castiel is appalled at Gabriel’s crass words, but Impala sends Gabriel an amused smile. “How could you tell?”

Gabriel looks pointedly at Impala’s pierced nipples. “Just a guess.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Gabriel, what do you want?”

“Saw my angel of a brother mingling with the second hottest guy at the party,” Gabriel says with a grin and a shrug. “Thought I’d come and have a looky-loo!” 

“Second hottest?” Impala feigns hurt.

Gabriel wiggles his brows, “You’re lookin’ at numero uno, bud.”

“I don’t know,” Impala’s gaze slides over towards Castiel, and Castiel immediately feels heat zing through him. “I think the only person I come in second to is Cas.” 

Gabriel’s leer intensifies. “Don’t let his looks fool you. He’s dressed like an angel, but I’ve heard he’s a real devil in be-”

“ _Gabriel_ ,” Castiel cuts him off, knowing his cheeks are bright red. He grabs the shorter man’s shoulders and starts steering him away. “I thought I saw someone dressed like Queen Elizabeth, you should ask her if she actually shaved off her eyebrows or used makeup to block them out.”

“Ohh!” Gabriel squeals in delight and titters off into the crowd, leaving Castiel and Impala alone.

“Isn’t he the owner of that one restaurant?” Impala suddenly asks, snapping the fingers of his free hand. His nails are painted dark, matte blue. “Greek… something…”

“It’s called Casa Mediterranea,” Castiel says, thankful that Impala isn’t lingering on Gabriel’s atrociously inappropriate behavior. 

“Right!” Impala grins. 

“And yes, he is,” Castiel says, glad to be alone with Impala again. Even though Castiel hadn’t ‘mingled’ with the crowd, he already knows he doesn’t want to talk to anyone else. He finishes his champagne at the same time Impala finishes his beer and a waiter comes by to collect their empty containers; he turns to ask Impala if he knows how to dance at the same time Impala turns to say something- their words smash together in the air and they both let out a little chuckle, Impala respectfully nodding his head for Castiel to go first. “Do you know how to dance?”

The eyebrow that’s surely arching is covered by the mask, but Castiel can read Impala’s expression easily enough. “You wanna take a spin?”

Castiel smiles a bit, “If you’re amenable.”

“Amenable,” Impala repeats, an amused lilt to his voice. “What are we talkin’? Waltz? Ballroom? Couple years ago Charlie got free passes to a dance class and I learned a little bit of everythin’.” 

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to be surprised. “Really?” 

Impala’s smile is beautiful, his body relaxed. “S’that so hard to believe?” 

Castiel shakes his head, chuckling. “I suppose not. I was going to wait for a song change to see what the tempo might be like. Although,” he sweeps his gaze over Impala’s form. Impala is definitely taller than Castiel without the heels, and if he took lessons with Charlie… “I assume you are used to leading?” 

Impala’s smile sharpens slightly. “I take direction well.” 

“Oh.” Arousal punches through Castiel’s gut and settles in the crater, and he nods. “Good- good. We can… good.” 

Impala takes a step closer. The cologne (perfume?) he’s wearing is woodsy and earthy with the gentlest of floral undercurrents, and Castiel can’t help but breathe it in. He’s mildly surprised Impala doesn’t smell like coffee. The man’s hand reaches to touch Castiel’s elbow, and when he doesn't flinch away his fingers slide down towards Castiel’s hand, grasping it warmly as he leads them out onto the floor. The song overhead is winding down and Castiel follows Impala, unable to register the arched brows and curious glances in their direction, only able to watch the tulle swish around Impala’s thighs and bowed legs as he leads them onto the dance floor. 

They come to a stop and Impala faces Castiel, placing his hands at twelve and two; the warmth from his palm seeps into Castiel’s shoulder through the layers he’s wearing, and where their hands are joined to Castiel’s left he feels minute sparks passing between them. The beat that picks up is a bit faster than what has been playing since Castiel arrived and he appreciates that; slow dancing is nice, but with the way his heart rate is spiking he’d rather keep himself on the go. 

Impala was right. He does take direction well; Castiel sweeps them along the dance floor, a few other couples also picking up the beat. Impala’s scent wafts through Castiel’s senses as they move, the only point of contact between their held hands and palms on hip and shoulder. It’s not a lot, but it’s still electric, and soon Castiel only becomes vaguely aware of the beat and tempo of the song as everything else around them gets drowned out by the curve of Impala’s smile and the depth of his eyes. The frills and tulles of Impala’s skirt brush against Castiel’s pants and he briefly wishes he could feel the delicate sensation against his skin; he boldly drops a hand from Impala’s waist to his hip, thumb brushing across the skirting - Impala’s tongue peeks out between his pretty white teeth with his smile, and Castiel finds himself smiling back. 

Their smiles are soft, but their eyes are blazing, and Castiel still feels that electric charge in the air.

They dance until the song slows, stops, and then changes. People applaud all of the dancers on the floor and Castiel makes to lead Impala away, but the tempo of the next song picks up and suddenly Impala _lights up_ , scrambling to grab Castiel’s hands.

“I fucking love this song,” Impala says.

Castiel blinks at him in bewilderment. “Um-”

Impala yanks Castiel towards him, their chests crashing together, Impala’s plush, glossy lips oh so close to Castiel’s own. “Know how we can dance to this one?” 

Castiel’s brain blanks entirely and he doesn’t reply, the depths of Impala’s shimmering green eyes sucking him in like the prettiest black hole he’s ever stared into.

Impala leans in to murmur into Castiel’s ear, “In the back seat of my car.”

The electric charge snaps.

Heat flashes through Castiel and his throat goes dry. Impala wastes no time hustling him off of the dance floor and through the crowd, Castiel following blindly, and the whiplash from a romantic dance to being half-hard in his pants has Castiel letting out a bit of a strangled groan. They dodge through costumed people who barely cast them a second glance and when they spill out into the chilly air Impala turns on heel, reaching up to whip Castiel’s mask off of his face.

“Been wanting to take this off all night,” Impala breathes.

Castiel blinks as cool air hits his heated skin, and then he reaches up to finger the edge of Impala’s mask lightly. Impala has a grin on his features, eyes dancing with arousal and amusement, but instead of removing the mask Castiel asks, “What’s your name?”

Impala’s teeth are sharp in the dim streetlights. “Dean.” 

“Dean.” Castiel tastes the name on his tongue, and then leads forward to taste Dean on his lips. Dean melts into him immediately, arms lifting to wrap around Castiel’s shoulders and press flush against him. His mouth yields to Castiel’s tongue and Castiel backs them up until Dean is pressed against the building - the kiss turns hungry, then deep, then desperate as Castiel’s hands move to finally touch the body he’s been dreaming about since the day he saw it.

All at once everything that is _Dean_ inhibits Castiel’s senses, turning them upside down. He’s aware of the fact they’re outside, he hears people yelling at them to get a room even as one of Dean’s legs lifts to drape over his hip, lining up their groins for a filthy grind. Dean’s delicate skirt ruffles and _shrrrs_ between them where it’s bunched and Castiel’s hand drops down to where Dean is exposed by the slit in the material, his palm greedily feeling up hairless skin and thick muscle. Dean’s lipgloss isn’t flavored but it’s tacky and their lips stick together every time their lips shift and Castiel has never done anything like this so publicly, but here he is, at Dean’s utter and complete mercy.

“Car,” Dean huffs against Castiel’s mouth, even though he doesn’t actually try to disengage their bodies. “‘Round back.” 

“Too far,” Castiel finds himself saying as he drags his sticky lips down the length of Dean’s clean shaven jaw. 

Dean lets out a melodious laugh, “We gotta leave before someone starts filming.”

Reluctantly Castiel pulls away. Now that he’s had a taste of Dean something has been _ignited_ inside of him and even though it’s a totally logical thing to want to move to some place a fraction more private, Castiel isn’t really into it. He’d have Dean right here, right now, against this wall. It’s been so long since Castiel has felt such an intense wave of desire and he doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize those feelings.

Like doing something as simple as walking around the building.

But Dean is laughing, the sound musical, every bit a woodland fairy as he grabs Castiel’s hand and drags him around the building. Maybe Dean’s laugh isn’t that pretty at all and Castiel is just so aroused it sounds that way to him. Castiel stares at the back of Dean’s head as they make their way to the parking lot, and when they end up at a sleek black muscle car, Castiel can only hope it’s Dean’s as he pins the man against the passenger side door to once again claim his mouth in a kiss.

“Cas,” Dean muffles against his mouth, between returning the hungry kisses and trying to pull away. “I gotta unlock the door.”

“We made it to the car,” Castiel says, biting into the hollow of Dean’s throat. Dean’s knees weaken slightly, his hand fumbling over the door handle, fingers dropping the keys onto the pavement. 

“Good point,” Dean concedes. His hands are gripping Castiel’s waist so tight Castiel thinks he might pop, and not in the good way. Although being squeezed to death by Dean might not be the worst way to go. 

Coolness rushes over Castiel’s chest and he belatedly realizes that Dean has unbuttoned his cinched waistcoat and tugged the ribbons free, fingers popping the buttons of his undershirt. Castiel pulls his mouth away from Dean’s collarbone so he can glance between them and lets out a low groan of approval. Dean’s nipples, erect from the piercings, are especially hard - some goosebumps are skittering on the areola and Castiel reaches up to smack Dean’s hands away so he can bend and wrap his lips around one of the barbells. Dean lets out a moan of approval, head tipping back, fingers tangling in Castiel’s hair and knocking his halo askew. 

“Really-” Dean pants out, laughter practically noiseless as he fights between pushing Castiel away and pulling him closer. “Inside the car, man, it’s fucking cold out here.” 

Castiel growls and pulls away from Dean so he can bend and swipe up his keys from the ground. While Dean unlocks the car Castiel reaches up the leather strap across his chest, intent on undoing it so he can let his wings fall free, but Dean turns around just in time to reach out and stop him.

“Wait,” Dean grins. “That’s a neat looking contraption. I wanna undo it.”

Castiel sends him a puzzled glance, overworked brain too fizzled out to really parse exactly why Dean wants to do that. But Dean’s hands move to the leather strap, fingers greedy, feeling the leather just as much as they’re feeling Castiel’s chest and oh. _Oh_ that feels nice. Dean sends a playful smirk up to Castiel and yanks on one end of the strap, _tightening_ it with a quick jerk, causing the breath to leave Castiel’s lungs on a surprised moan. Dean then loosens the strap proper and helps Castiel lower the wings to the ground, and once Castiel is free of his burden he swings open the car door and then starts manhandling Dean into the back seat.

Dean goes willingly, tulle and glitter arcing prettily as he moves. Castiel follows into the spacious back seat and shuts the door with a little less care than he normally would, and then he’s on Dean again. Crowding the taller man up against the opposite door Castiel goes back to hungrily kissing him, Dean’s hands dropping to Castiel’s belt to start undoing it. 

“Just- let me-” Dean pants out between kisses. He makes a pleased noise when he pops the button and fly of the slacks and his fingers reach to pull Castiel through the slit of his boxers, giving him a few languid strokes. “ _Fuck_ , yes. Jesus. That’s a nice cock.”

Castiel hums and sits back on his heels so he can assess the situation. A silent understanding passes between them about who’s going to be doing what, but it’s the position that Castiel is trying to calculate. “I haven’t had sex in the back seat of a car since high school.” 

Dean barks out a laugh. “Can your old bones handle it?” 

Rolling his eyes, Castiel swats the flank of Dean’s thigh, relishing the sound of flesh on flesh and the way Dean shudders under him. “What would be easiest for you?” 

“Well,” Dean shifts, getting onto his hands and knees. The sheer tulle of the skirt reveals his gold thong stretched tight over his hole, the fleshy globes of his ass curtained prettily. Castiel reaches up to hike up the tulle and lump it over the small of Dean’s back, adjusting it so it frames Dean’s ass like a piece of art, and Dean’s spine bows elegantly. “I’ve been thinking about you eating me out all night, so we can start there.”

Castiel lets out his breath in a harsh exhale, totally on board. His palms grip at Dean’s ass, spreading him wide open so he can watch the muscles clench and tense under the thin material of the shimmery thong. Castiel bends, blowing hot air down Dean’s crack, enjoying the way goosebumps spring up in a ripple over Dean’s flesh. He moves the thong aside with his index finger, stretching it out of the way, blowing another gust of hot air directly over Dean’s hole. Dean lets out a low groan, hanging his head, his hips wriggling in invitation. 

An invitation that Castiel readily accepts.

He swipes the flat of his tongue over Dean’s hole, loving how the pucker tenses. A few broad swipes to collect Dean’s taste and then Castiel is spreading him so he can work his tongue wetly inside; he slurps, he slobbers, it’s messy and wet and Dean is so vocal his noises reverberate around the enclosed space of the car and stuff Castiel’s head thicker than cotton. It’s incredible how devolved Castiel has become in this man’s presence. 

At least his technique hasn’t devolved. 

Dean writhes beneath him, flexing and tensing and bucking, his erection trapped by the thong. Castiel holds the material tight, keeping Dean’s cock trapped between the fabric and his stomach, occasionally pulling it tighter and looser to cause the material to slide around and make Dean squirm. Castiel pulls back at one point and watches his saliva drip down Dean’s crack, wet and slick, and he can’t help but move his other hand up so he can hook his thumb on Dean’s rim and give it a tug. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean crows, pushing back against Castiel’s hand. 

Castiel teases Dean’s hole with his thumb only, stretching in different directions, pulling and teasing and pressing in. “Condom.” 

“Glove box,” Dean replies breathlessly. 

When Castiel pulls away Dean huffs and presses his chest to the seat, ass hiked up in the air. Castiel stretches over the bench seat to pop open the glove box and rummage through it. The condoms are easy to find, as is the bottle of lube, and Castiel can’t help but send an arched brow towards the other man. “Are back seat trysts a common thing for you?” 

Dean whuffs out a breath, “The bottle is dusty, dude. Get over here.” 

Feeling a little bit of satisfaction that this doesn’t seem to be something that Dean gets up to regularly (at least recently), a mildly possessive emotion grips his heart and the base of his cock. He presses a palm to the length of his shaft to calm the tremor running through him and rips the condom open, rolling it onto himself before turning his attention to the lube. 

“Hurry,” Dean doesn’t whine. No, he _commands_ , and Castiel finds himself smirking at his pushiness. 

“But it’s been a while,” Castiel says, deciding to be an ass. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Dean pushes up on his hands and Castiel watches all of the muscles in his back and shoulders flex as he glares over his shoulder. “I’d prefer it if you fuck me raw and dry but if you insist on being a gentleman, then _get on with it_.”

Well, then. 

What a guy.

Castiel doesn’t spend an exorbitant amount of time stretching Dean. Dean clearly knows what his limits are, and Castiel himself is feeling pretty impatient, so the stretching is more functional than any sort of indulgent. Dean doesn’t seem to mind, and when Castiel lines up his cock Dean drops a leg from the seat to extend it into the footwell, bracing himself, the muscles in his leg tensing.

“Fuck me.” 

When Castiel snaps his hips forward and buries his cock in one go there’s a mild fear that it hurts Dean - but that fear gets immediately washed away when Dean lets out a wrecked groan and arches his back, pushing back against Castiel so hard he almost knocks him over. Surprised, Castiel puts one hand on Dean’s hip and curls the fingers of his other hand over Dean’s shoulder, pinning him in place.

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean breathes. 

“Wait.” Castiel says roughly.

Dean falls still, his chest expanding and retracting rapidly with his uneven breaths. After ten solid seconds Castiel pulls his hips back slightly and then pushes back in, once, slowly. Dean melts. Castiel pulls out again, further, and then fucks back into Dean so hard the impala mask knocks against the window and goes askew. Dean mutters an encouraging curse and that’s the pace Castiel sets; brutal enough to rock the entire car, Dean lifting a hand to brace his body against the door frame to keep himself from smashing into it repeatedly. The material of Dean’s thong chafes against Castiel’s skin briefly before he moves his hand from Dean’s hip to pull the material aside again, but in doing that and glancing down, Castiel presses his thumb to Dean’s stretched rim.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” Dean huffs out. 

“Yes, what?” Castiel asks, just to be sure. He keeps the pressure of his thumb on Dean’s rim as he slows his thrusts, the delicious drag making him bite his lower lip. 

“Your finger-” Dean rocks back against him. “Fuck, stretch me more.” 

Castiel resists a groan. He finds the bottle of lube and squeezes some more onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it, and then carefully, slowly, fits his thumb in alongside his cock when he slides back in. Dean groans in approval and stops moving, though his hand stays propped against the door. Castiel watches in fascination as Dean’s hole swallows up his cock and his thumb, marvels at the fact that Dean seems like he’d be able to take more. 

Good God. 

“How many cocks have you taken at once?” Castiel finds himself asking, his voice at its lowest pitch and rougher than gravel.

“Fuck-” Dean chokes back a whimper. Castiel’s pace has slowed in tempo but increased in force, to accommodate the fact he’s got his hand between their bodies. “Two-” Dean huffs, pressing his forehead to the seat. The impala mask is on the floor, and Castiel wishes desperately he could see what Dean looks like. “Two. And I’ve been- fuck- fisted- _God damn_ Cas-”

Castiel works his thumb in a bit deeper. He doesn’t have the finesse or the mobility to do more than his thumb and his cock, but he supposes there’s always opportunities in the future to try again and do more. Now that he has Dean under him, now that he’s inside him, Castiel feels that possessive streak flare through him again, settling deep in his gut and making his free hand grip Dean’s shoulder so tight the freckled skin turns white beneath his fingers. 

“Perfect,” Castiel marvels aloud. “You’re perfect.”

He can see the flush rise up Dean’s neck. “Fuck me, fuck me, Cas.” 

Removing his thumb and wiping it distractedly on his slacks, Castiel grips both of Dean’s hips and drapes himself over the man’s back, teeth catching on the shell of Dean’s ear as he murmurs into it. “I can’t wait to get you in my bed. I can’t wait to stretch you with my fingers until you cry. And I will make you cry, Dean. Do you believe me?” His hips have slowed their thrusting and he’s buried to the hilt, just grinding his hips forward. 

Dean nods blindly. “Yeah, yeah. Please, Cas.” 

“You’re such a pretty beggar,” Castiel praises. 

“Oh my _God_ ,” some desperation floods into Dean’s voice. “Fuck me, Cas, make me cum here and then take me home and make me cum again.”

Castiel’s head tilts so he can sink his teeth into the meat of Dean’s shoulder, the bite not sharp enough to break skin but hard enough to bruise. He complies with Dean’s request, if only because Dean had promised in the same breath to repeat their encounter again tonight. And while Dean is exquisite as is, Castiel meant what he said: he wants to take Dean apart in the comfort of his home, not in a car that squeaks every time he thrusts. 

The race to climax is messy. Literally. Dean’s ass is wet with spit and lube and Castiel reaches to jerk him off because his hands are still keeping him from colliding into the side of the car, and when Dean orgasms it’s like a reservoir breaks. It might be because he can’t see it, but it feels like a pint of cum spills and drips over his fingers, and the mental visual of Dean debauched and filthy and covered in bodily fluids has Castiel reaching his end as well, filling the condom with a low, satisfied groan. 

The afterglow doesn’t last long; Dean shifts and hisses, his body likely in complaint of the position he’s been in for the past fifteen minutes. They’re both rather large for even this spacious back seat and when they finally get themselves situated, Dean using some napkins from the glove compartment to clean up, they both sit back on the seat to catch their breath. Castiel turns his head to regard Dean without the mask, and is immediately floored.

“You’re beautiful,” Castiel blurts. 

Dean turns to look at him, his lips quirked in an amused smirk. The impala mask hadn’t hidden everything, but the absence of it reveals so much. The shape of Dean’s eyes are almost feminine, delicately framed by light lashes, kohl liner adding a sultry tilt to them. His cheekbones are high and masculine, his forehead smooth, and now that all of the aspects of Dean’s face are visible in one go, it’s breathtaking. Castiel feels his heart skip at least three beats. 

Tilting his head back a bit, Dean lets out a little laugh. “You’re fuckin’ weird, you know that?”

Finding a wry smile spreading on his lips, Castiel lifts a hand to pull his halo off of his head so he can run his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been told.” 

A beat of silence, and then: “D’you really wanna take me back to your place?”

Castiel hums. “I do. I would like to take you back to my place, and when you need a change of clothes we could go to your place… and then sometime after that, we could go to a date place.” 

Dean’s eyebrows raise in surprised amusement. “You askin’ me out?”

“I suppose I’m doing it a bit backwards, aren’t I?” Castiel muses. He’s still slightly breathless. The windows of the car are fogged.

Dean laughs, and he doesn’t sound like a woodland nymph - he sounds like a raucous, extroverted guy, and that somehow is better than some weird fantastical thing that had been briefly lodged in Castiel’s addled brain. “Shit, it worked. Gimme a sec to catch my breath and then we can get outta here.” 

Castiel nods. Movement from outside catches his eye and he sees someone wandering the parking lot at a leisurely pace; squinting a little, Castiel thinks it might be a prowler at first. But then the figure turns and the street light catches the grease in his hair and the fake mustache on his lips-

“Dean.” 

“Mm?” 

“We need to go, now.” 

“What’s the rush?” Dean asks, the tone of his voice shifting from sated to slightly alarmed. 

Castiel sits up in his seat, reaching to grab at Dean’s forearms and haul him more upright. “My brother is currently trying to decide which car we are in and if he finds us I _guarantee_ the rest of our night will go up in flames.”

Laughing obnoxiously, Dean allows Castiel to manhandle him up over the bench seat and into the driver’s seat, and Castiel feels like he should be annoyed at Dean’s candor, but he’s too scared of Gabriel finding him in a car with the windows fogged up and his pants unbuttoned.

“Your wings are outside,” Dean says as the car roars to life. 

Castiel curses and swings open the back door, reaching to snatch his wings off of the ground and bring them awkwardly into the back seat. That catches Gabriel’s attention and he lets out a sharp whistle - Castiel doubles his efforts and when he gets the wings in he slams the door, right as Dean puts the pedal to the medal and shoots out of the parking spot. Castiel lets out a relieved laugh, twisting in his seat to look out the back window to see Gabriel flipping him off as they leave, and when Castiel slumps down, chuckling to himself, he catches Dean’s eyes in the rear view mirror. The city speeds by them as Dean leaves the ball - and Gabriel - in the dust.

“Now,” Castiel says. “What were you saying about being able to take two cocks at once?”

**Author's Note:**

> honk if you hate me


End file.
